


Don't Know

by Lyus



Category: Grimoire: Manastorm
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:11:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5353523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyus/pseuds/Lyus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing that draws the hearts of men is the grimoire, but what of the women and their own ambitions?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> In the perspective of the watcher of Nether.

Never fleeting glances at the men, that I've seen her throw during a fight. Toward that doppelganger. No fear, or regret. Efficiency.


	2. Second

There is obvious resentment, in the lack of a mentioning of mother or father, and the perverseness of the woman with the aroma of ozone. Stepping lightly between grass deadened by footfall and the draw of abilities. It is the scream when the sky darkens around a foe, blood curdling in its intensity, raw emotion cut short. Whose but the caster's? Bloody knuckles and tears till death and revival, continuing. Perseverance rewarded with time, minutes unto hours, and respite into namesake. Nether, from whence one came without birth from the mother or conception by the father in that but by choice alone, slipping from wombs warm embrace to emerge fully formed in the rags of the disregarded with the devil in the eye. Twice orphaned by difference, blood coursing magic through the veins, by appearance, thrice by choice. Numbers meaningless with godspeed granted by practice and by blood. Nothing left but reverence and revel in the sport of violence for the secrets of the Grimoire.

Why else fight?


	3. From Whence

They come from the void, or the void of the Earth. The seclusion of nucleic societies, spinning closely and interknit (interwoven, twined). Step from adolescence to adult, onto the battlefield and fight the fight of ancestors long since dead but lingering. Whispering in the ears of the worthy a plan most intriguing. Jump, but how high? Run, but how far? The inheritance of Nether, but not the independence and strength of fleeing, flitting with a step, two, then three down the cracking cobble and dirt, feet slipping against wet stone. Down, down the corridor, round the corner, breath and escape, flee, forgotten out of sight and out of mind. Nether not quite the opponent she should have been, brash but thoughtful, stretching her limits and testing rippling waters. She is the darkness between stars and the space where fingers allot when being held, the expanse of space in which messages are passed, whispered between people whose words will only be shared between a mutual connection. Her existence are words leaving lips and entering the ears of the unintended. She was the shadow play of leaves through a child's window, inciting fear and trepidation. She was.

Being was enough, the reaction was that of another.

**Author's Note:**

> I spoke with Brent on Wednesday, one of the developers of Grimoire: Manastorm, and once I realized no lore had been publicly released yet I ran with it. Who's to say none of this is true until the lore has been released?
> 
> The watcher of Nether is not a playable class in the game, and exists as an extension of the player in the form of a spectator.


End file.
